Ruff! Ruff!
Chris blinked, wondering if he was still dreaming. Because he would have sworn he’d just heard . . .
“Is that a dog?” Holly barged into his room without knocking, even though she would have yelled at Chris for doing the same thing.
But Chris wasn’t focused on that right now. He jumped out of bed. “I heard it too. Where’s it coming from?”
His sister tugged on the hem of the oversize basketball jersey she wore as a pajama top. “Outside?” she said, sounding uncertain. “Maybe it’s the Garcias’ dog.”
“Nope. Sounds different.” Chris was known as the animal expert in the family, so for once Holly didn’t argue with him. “Come on, let’s go see what’s up.”
He kicked on his slippers and rushed downstairs with Holly on his heels. Their father was in the kitchen fiddling with the coffeemaker.
“Whoa! What’s all the commotion, kiddos?” he said, waggling his eyebrows and wearing his patented Dad Smirk. “Hold on . . . Don’t tell me—is today some kind of holiday or something? Is that why you two aren’t sleeping till noon as usual?”
“It’s not that, Dad.” Chris hurried past and swung open the back door. A blast of cold wind swept in, along with a few more faint barks from somewhere overhead.
Chris tilted his head, wondering if the wind was messing with his hearing. Because this time, the barks had sounded almost like . . . words. There! He heard the sounds again!
“Did you hear that?” he asked Holly, who had caught up by then. “It sounds like the dog is talking! Like he’s saying, Help, I’m stuck!”
“Yeah, right, very funny, Doctor Doolittle.” Holly rolled her eyes, then shivered and grabbed a parka off the hook near the door. “Brr! Ivy was right—it’s freezing out today!”
“Didn’t snow overnight, though, did it?” Chris muttered, remembering what his sister had said the night before.
Their father stepped over to join them, his battered old leather slippers flap-flapping on the tiles. “Was that a dog I just heard?” he asked, peering out the door.
Then Chris’s mother wandered in, yawning and with her short auburn hair sticking up in tufts. “What’s all the racket down here?” she mumbled, heading straight for the coffeemaker. “I was at the hospital late last night. I know it’s Christmas morning, but I was hoping to sleep at least until the crack of dawn.”
“You put on your lab coat instead of your bathrobe again, Mom,” Holly told her with a sigh.
Dr. Kerstman glanced down at herself. “Oops, so I did. Hope I don’t wear my robe to the hospital later.” She chuckled and grabbed a mug out of the cabinet.
Sometimes Chris was amazed that his mother could be such a good doctor when she could hardly dress herself. Still, he supposed that being able to fix broken bones and stuff was more important than matching socks.
Arf, arf!
Mom’s eyes finally opened all the way. “Hey, was that a dog?” she said. “Oh, Chris—you didn’t try to sneak in another pet, did you?”
“No, Mom,” Chris said, a little sheepish at the memory of how he’d smuggled a stray kitten into his bedroom the previous summer. Mom had been working double shifts at the hospital that week, and Holly was at sleepaway soccer camp, so it was a while before anyone noticed. Dad had thought he had the world’s longest-lasting cold before he finally caught Chris sneaking a couple cans of tuna out of the pantry. Chris’s parents had made him give the kitten to one of the nurses at the hospital, who was looking for a new cat.
Ruff, ruff! Help, I’m stuck up here on the roof!
Chris stepped outside. “We have to rescue that dog!” he said. “I think . . . I think he’s on the roof.”
“How would a dog get on the roof?” Dad stepped outside and looked up. At the next flurry of barks, his eyes widened. “Well, jingle my bells—I think you’re right, Chris! It does sound like it’s on the roof.”
“Maybe it climbed up the cords for the Christmas lights,” Holly said. “They’re pretty much a huge spider web on the back of the house.”
Chris nodded. The Kerstmans weren’t likely to win any prizes in the town’s best-decorated-home contest this year. Dad had taken on an extra class at the university to cover for a sick colleague that semester, and Mom had been busy at the hospital as usual, which meant there wasn’t much time for planning or decorating. So they’d just strung a bunch of multicolored lights on the house and shrubbery and added a few light-up candy canes along the front walk. The cords for all the lights ran down the back of the house to the outdoor outlet, crisscrossing one another and sometimes blocking the windows. Some of the wires were attached to the siding with the peppermint-striped duct tape Dad had bought at the holiday market last year. Others swung freely in any touch of a breeze. It was a mess, but at least the front of the house looked sort of festive.
“Excellent theory, my little Ilex,” Mom said with a smile. Ilex was Mom’s nickname for Holly—it was the Latin name for the tree she was named after. Mom loved Latin names for things. Probably because that was all they learned in medical school, at least as far as Chris could tell. “But how are we going to get the dog down from up there?” she added.
“I could climb up the cords too,” Chris offered.
“What? No!” Mom set her coffee cup down with a clunk, looking alarmed, and joined the others on the back deck. “They’d never hold your weight. And I’ll have enough broken bones to set today without adding yours to my workload.”
Dad was already heading back inside. “I’ll grab the ladder out of the garage.”
Five minutes later, the Kerstmans huddled in the backyard, staring up at the roof. Chris had pulled on his sneakers, and his mom had slipped on the clogs she wore to work, but Holly and Dad were still in their slippers. Holly hopped from foot to foot, shivering dramatically. “This is crazy,” she said. “It’s freezing out here! I’m going back inside.”
But she didn’t. She just pulled her hands into the sleeves of her parka like a turtle pulling its head into its shell, watching as Dad leaned the ladder against the gutter near the chimney.
Woof! Help me, please!
“He sounds scared.” Chris peered upward. He could barely see the top of the chimney. “Hold on, doggy!” he called out. “We’re coming!”
Arf! Okay! But hurry, it’s dark in here!
Dark? Chris squinted up at the winter sun. What did the dog mean by that?
Mom was watching Dad adjust the ladder. “Watch out for the cords,” she said. “We really should have braided them or something.”
Dad glanced upward. “I’m trying to get close to the chimney—sounds like the dog might be stuck in there.”
Holly blinked. “In the chimney?” she said. “How in the world would a dog get in there?”
“No, I think he’s right,” Chris blurted out, finally understanding the “dark in here” thing.
“Maybe it’s Santa Dog, and he got stuck trying to deliver our presents,” Dad said with a chuckle, settling the ladder against the edge of the roof. “Now, who wants to climb up there?”
“Me!” Chris said, stepping forward.
His mother pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder. “You do it, Kenny,” she told Dad. “You managed not to fracture your fibula putting the lights up, right?”
“That’s confidence, Mom,” Holly said with a snort. “I don’t think any of us should go up there. Maybe we can just call the town dogcatcher or something.”
Dad smiled at her. “I’m not sure Poinsettia has a dogcatcher, sweetie,” he said. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. If I fall off and break my legs, your mother can put me back together. Right, honey?”
“I’m not on duty until noon,” Mom said with a shrug. “But I’m sure someone can slap on a couple of casts in the ER.”
“Very funny.” Dad took a deep breath, then grabbed the ladder.
Chris held his breath as his father started to climb—one rung, two, three . . . Then Chris looked up at the chimney—what he could see
of it from here, anyway. Was there really a dog inside? How had it even . . .
Suddenly he heard a funny little ripping sound. He glanced toward his father, who was halfway up the ladder. Chris’s eyes widened.
“Watch it, Dad,” he called. “The back of your slipper is caught in one of the cords!”
“Huh?” Dad paused with his left foot halfway to the next rung. A green power cord dangled off the heel of his slipper with a strip of colorful duct tape still attached.
“He’s right, Kenny,” Mom said. “Shake it loose, or you’ll bring the lights down on your head.”
Dad nodded and shook his foot—so vigorously that both cord and slipper went flying!
“Oops,” he said. He put his bare foot down on the next rung, then yanked it back again just as quickly. “Yow!” he cried. “That’s cold!”
“Daddy!” Holly exclaimed. “Be careful, you’re tipping!”
“Come back down,” Mom added. “You can put on your shoes and try again.”
Dad set his bare left foot down again, gingerly this time, his knobby toes curling around the rung. “Coming,” he said.
Just then came the faint sound of a tinny, twinkly version of “Jingle Bell Rock.” “Sounds like the Fraziers turned on their singing snow globe,” Holly muttered.
Up on the ladder, Dad started humming along. “I love this song,” he said, nodding his head to the beat.
Meanwhile he fished for the lower rung with his right foot—the one that still had a slipper on it. But he was distracted by the music, and his foot went too far forward. When he tried to yank it back, the back of the slipper got caught on the rung.
“Yikes!” Dad exclaimed as his foot slipped forward . . .
“Kenny!” Mom cried.
“Dad!” Chris yelped, as Holly let out a little scream.
“Aaaahh!” Dad blurted out as he lost his grip on the ladder and fell backwards . . .
Chris squeezed his eyes shut, visions of his father landing headfirst on the hard, frozen ground flashing through his mind. At least Mom would know what to do . . .
But when Chris cracked one eye open, hardly daring to look, he saw that his father hadn’t fallen after all. His right leg was hooked over a rung of the ladder—leaving him dangling upside down a yard above the ground!
“A little help here, guys?” Upside-Down Dad said with a sigh.
Arf, arf! Is anyone coming?
Chris looked up and gulped. The dog’s barks sounded weaker. How long had he been up there?
“We need to get the dog out of there before . . .” Chris began anxiously.
Mom silenced him with a look. “We’ll rescue the dog,” she said. “First, though, we need to rescue your father.”
Before long, Dad was safely back on the ground. Holly helped him dig his left slipper out of the bushes while Mom moved the ladder over a few feet.
“Can I climb up this time?” Chris asked as he helped her.
“Absolutely not,” she replied. “And your father’s not going again either.”
Holly heard her and looked over. “I hope you don’t think I’m climbing up on the roof to rescue some random stray dog,” she said. “That’s not exactly how I planned to spend Christmas morning.”
Chris glared at her. She really had changed. The old Holly had always been ready for an adventure. How many hours had the two of them spent catching tadpoles in the stream in the town park? How many nights had they stayed up late telling each other spooky stories by flashlight in the backyard tent? Or kept each other awake to wait up for Santa, or . . . ?
“You’re not going up either,” Mom told Holly, breaking into Chris’s thoughts. “I’ll go.”
She grabbed the sides of the ladder and stepped onto the first rung. Chris hurried over to hold one side of the ladder, while his father steadied the other side.
“Be careful, honey,” Dad said.
“I was born careful.” Mom climbed steadily upward, her lab coat flapping in the cold breeze.
Ruff, ruff!
Chris held his breath, standing on tiptoes to peer up at his mother as she crawled onto the roof. She stood up gingerly beside the chimney and peered inside.
“Is the dog in there?” he called.
Mom reached down into the chimney . . . and pulled out a fluffy, wiggly, soot-covered little creature! He was about the size of a large raccoon but furrier, with a fluffy, wagging tail.
“Got him!” she called. “Hold the ladder—we’re coming down.”
4
A Christmas Tail
Peppermint Bark sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Whew! It felt as if he’d been stuck in that sooty chimney forever! He tried not to wiggle too much as the human woman clutched him close and climbed down the ladder.
But once they were on the ground, he couldn’t hold back any longer. The moment the woman set him down, Peppermint Bark erupted into a whirlwind of jumping and leaping and joyful barking.
“Thank you, thank you!” he barked, his tail wagging nonstop as he tried to lick anyone he could reach.
The girl squealed and pushed him away when he jumped up against her legs, but the smaller human child—the boy with the tousled sandy hair and wide brown eyes—kneeled down and hugged Peppermint Bark.
“You’re welcome,” the human child said. “How’d you get stuck in there, anyway?”
“Long story,” Peppermint Bark told him.
“Oh, okay,” the child said. “Maybe you can tell me about it later.”
The human man chuckled. “Talking to animals, just like always, eh, Chris?” he said in a joking tone.
Peppermint Bark tilted his head curiously. “What do you mean?” he barked at the man.
But the man turned away without answering to say something to the woman. For a second Peppermint Bark was confused. He could tell the boy understood him. But he realized the other humans hadn’t responded to anything he’d said. Couldn’t they hear his words?
“I’m Chris,” the boy said. “What’s your name?”
“Peppermint Bark,” the little dog replied.
* * *
Chris couldn’t stop petting and staring at the shaggy, dirty, but still adorable half-grown puppy—Peppermint Bark. That was his name. And Chris knew that because the little dog had just told him.
Was he still asleep and dreaming? Because Chris had never heard of a talking dog. And that wasn’t the only way Peppermint Bark was different from any other dog Chris had ever seen. His breath smelled like peppermint and hot cocoa and freshly fallen snow. And every time he wagged his tail, there was the faint sound of jingle bells . . .
“Can we go back inside now?” Holly complained. “I’m freezing my toes off!”
“Don’t do that, my little frozen Ilex,” Mom said with a chuckle. “If your toes fall off, you’ll have to go to the hospital to have them sewn back on. And the emergency room is always packed on Christmas. That’s why I have to go in for a few hours later today, remember?”
Chris remembered. He remembered lots of holidays when his mom had to work. It was great that she was such a good doctor that everyone needed her to take care of their busted ankles and cracked ribs. But did she really have to work on Christmas?
“Right.” Dad chuckled. He picked up the ladder and headed for the garage. “Plus all those candy cane overdoses and paper cuts from opening gifts . . .”
“Come on, Peppermint Bark,” Chris said to the little dog, not wanting to think about Mom’s job anymore. “Let’s go inside and warm up.”
“Sure—thanks!” Peppermint Bark frolicked ahead toward the back door, following Mom. “But it’s already really warm here, at least compared to back home! And hey, where’s all the snow?”
Meanwhile Holly shot Chris a funny look. “What did you call him?” she asked.
“Peppermint Bark,” Chris said. “That’s his name.”
His sister rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. I would’ve named him Pigpen myself—look how dirty he is.”
Just
then Mom let out a shout. “Somebody stop that filthy little beast! He’s leaving tracks everywhere!”
Chris dashed forward. But it was too late. Peppermint Bark had already raced in excited circles around the kitchen, leaving sooty paw prints all over the white tile floor.
“This is amazing!” the little dog barked. “The floor is slippery like ice, but it’s warm!”
“Stop!” Chris cried. “You’re all dirty from being in the chimney!”
Peppermint Bark skidded to a halt, tilting his head to look up at him. “Sorry, Chris,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make a mess.”
“It’s okay,” Chris told him.
Holly was glancing around the kitchen with a frown. “It’s not okay,” she said. “I don’t feel like mopping the floor on Christmas morning, do you?”
For a second, Chris thought she’d actually heard the dog’s words. “He already apologized,” he said. “You don’t have to make him feel bad.”
Holly stared at him. “Grow up,” she snapped. “You’re too old to pretend to talk to animals. It was bad enough when you were five and pretended your goofy stuffed tiger was your best friend.”
Chris glared back at her. Why was she always saying things like that? He felt like reminding her that she’d had a favorite stuffed animal too—Rufus the elephant. Chris had helped Dad pick out the plush pachyderm for Holly’s sixth birthday . . . But what was the point in thinking about stuff like that? She wasn’t the old Holly anymore. That Holly was gone, and there was nothing Chris could do to get her back.
Dad was already wiping the floor with a rag, while Mom pulled the broom out of a closet, looking slightly annoyed. Chris quickly picked up Peppermint Bark. He was heavier than he looked, but Chris hardly noticed. “I’ll give him a bath, okay?” he said. “Then I’ll help you guys clean the kitchen.”
Santa's Puppy Page 2
